He had awoke two days later, in the gray cold light of the morning, he felt condemned, his executioner was not far away from him in the shed like house, Fatima was not in the room ... he could hear her voice outside talking to the bull...
It was the sixth day; the creature sat his back against the outside shed, a mountain of tall grass around him, the grass slightly wet, his forehead damp, he touches the earth, rumples his shoulders, over lapping his hands (at the same time), one over the other, a few birds sit peeking over the edge of the wooden roof of the shed like house. He would like to cry, but he had never done such a thing, he didn't know how, and his feelings were more like thoughts, than emotions. He spots a lizard, it runs, and he finds out his reflexes are faster than the lizards, and grabs him by the tail, or what seems to be the extended backend of the foot long creature, drops him into his mouth, like a raindrop falling into a bucket, swallows the lizard whole, it was his breakfast.
Along the roadside, dust is raised in spires. He hears thunder, sees water but is having a hard time reasoning the two out, how do they fit together, he comes to the conclusion, thunder is produced when it is close to water.
He has not looked into a mirror but he knows his face is different than his mothers, I mean his human mother, he has seen in a mud puddle, his face is more like a goat, but goats cannot reason like him, they go to the slaughter, he tells himself, he will not allow that. Yet his mind is not stretched out as far as it should be, but he knows at one time it was, and perhaps in time to come it will again be more knowledgeable.
The old man is feeding the bull now, he, Azaz, can hear him talking to himself, he doesn't like him all that much, but he is his mother's, something or another; his arm was more tasty than the lizard he concludes. Fatima is planting something afar by the roadway. He pulls at his face, trying to figure out if he is inside a disguise, "Where is the practical part of me," he asks himself. The bold grass still is hiding him, his eyes closed, and "Who is this inside of me?" he asks. All rhetorical questions for the most part.
